Playing with fire
by Aiwyn
Summary: Aiwyn has many stories to tell. From the fall of Quel'thalas to the rise of the Iron Horde, she witnessed more than she would have ever hoped. This is only the start. My first attempt at writing Aiwyn's story in english. Please forgive my grammar, I'm practicing. It's not yet polished, but instead I'll keep correcting it. Please be honest. Feedback, please.
1. Prologue

This is some sort of prologue, introduction, to the stories to come. The first version was born out of a fast deteriorating mind, due to lack of sleep and high levels of caffeine. In this version, I actually gave it a thought. Please, enjoy, give me some feedback and be honest.

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><p>The moonlight has the curious power of shedding mistery and romance over everything it touches, making the scene of the most brutal crime look innocent and peaceful. Now, it was capable of making the nest of lust and perversion look dreamy and ethereal, even though the air was still vibrating with sighs filled with lust.<p>

The room was silent now, the hour of the wolf. The night breeze played with the sheer drapes, but there were no candles to dance since the light of the full moon was enough for the man and the woman. For now, even the restless books filled with arcane power were quiet; even the artifacts resting on the shelves, that usually seemed alive as entities, were sleeping now.

The man ran his hand up her body, savoring the touch. Her skin was silky, soft enough to make his hands seem even rougher. Warm as if she was bathed by the sun. Flawless and untainted. Delicate and fragile.

Her chest moved up and down below his hand, and for a moment he felt her heart, barely contained by her smooth skin. It ran wild, fast, even though her breath was starting to calm down. He found her slim neck. She let out the sweetest of sighs when he closed his hand around it. Her heart was beating faster, her life running through her veins - and he could feel it, right there, in his hand, pulsating like liquid fire. It felt like he was holding her life in his hand, just the smallest squeeze was enough...

"You like that, don't you?" He said, in that silky voice. "Aren't you afraid?"

She stared at him. Her eyes still shinning, her cheeks still blushed, pleasure still running fresh in her veins. They're silhouettes were only partially revealed by the soft moonlight coming from the balcony, and as most things revealed by moonlight, it seemed more romantic than it actually was. As innocent as two lovers after their embrace.

They were as different as the moon and sun. She was a delicate elf, her long white hair spreading all over the round bed and reflecting the moonlight. Her curves were perfectly smooth and her skin pale and pinkish as if she has never seen the sunlight. The man, on the other hand, looked like a sailor. Tanned skin, defined muscles and messy curls of hair as black as a raven. Rough hands - she liked those rough hands. He looked like a human, but his blazing eyes were an indication of his true self, an indication that there was indeed something that made them look alike.

They were both creatures made of fire, with blazing eyes and fiery hearts. Their strong wills constantly at clash, biting and clawing each other.

He took a sniff on her, and found her scent glorious. It was the scent of lust, pure and maddening. Every inch of her was made to drive men mad with lust.

"Afraid?" She said, and a smile curved her lips. "Not of you..."

Oddly enough, he didn't feel insulted. Not now. He opened the belt that kept her hands in place and rubbed lightly the marks on her wrists, tainting her flawless skin.

"Besides..." She continued, touching lightly on his neck with the tip of her fingers. As she did it, a thin line of arcane runes shone softly. "You're the one with the leash."

He smiled with all his teeth, and it looked like the grin of a predator before his prey. He knew she liked it, the feeling of danger, of his rough and heavy touch. It was exciting, alluring.

"Curious, isn't it?" He said, rubbing her wrists again and examining the reddish marks. "You're the one that bears the marks of dominance, yet it is me that's the tamed beast. Not that I'm complaining. It almost feels like..."

"..feels like your power is yours again?" She completed with a grin.

There was a moment of silence, where they both stared at one another, without blinking, their malicious grin reflected on one another.

"I have another theory on why you don't have a boyfriend." He said, hovering over her. "You're annoying."

"It's reasonable. But I like mine better." She started. "I don't want one. And you don't need to pretend you don't hate me, just..."

"I don't hate you." He interrupted her. "You outsmarted me. I admire you." He answered. "But back at what's important... Why?"

He let out a surprised grunt as she pulled him down and twisted his body beneath her, like a snake. She sat on his waist and looked down on him, at least twice her size, muscly enough to easily subjugate her, physically. Yet it was he who was subjugated. Ironic, to say the least.

"I don't need a lover." She said, as she ran her soft and small hands up his chest muscles. "I have a son, to continue my bloodline. An apprentice, to inherit my knowledge. A trade, for my most mundane needs. And, once in a while, I may have a man to warm my bed, as I please. Sounds enough to me."

"And what about love?" He asked. "You, mortals, are the ones that keep reciting its wonders. It's so curious you left that out of the list. I don't believe you're one of those bitchy ladies incapable of loving."

"I'm not." She answered, as she felt every detail of his rough muscles beneath her hands. "I just... had enough of it."

"Care to explain?"

She kept silent for a moment, thinking of the right words for it. The air of the room was still vibrating with lust, and so it was hard to think properly. It was still fresh, their bodies barely given the time to cool down.

"I had quite a few lovers." She answered, and then sighed as she saw his condemning stare. "Fine, I had quite a lot of lovers. And I mean lovers, boyfriends, not..."

"...men to warm your bed, only?" He suggested.

"Right." She continued. "And it doesn't matter if you have just a couple of lovers or a thousand. You will never get... desensitized, if you know what I mean. I loved as if it was the first time. I loved as if it was the last, as if there was no tomorrow. And it hurt as if I was an innocent maiden, as if I never saw deception before. And a small piece of me died everytime my love died. And I mourned it as I should. Every. Single. Time." She sighed, seeming tired. "It's... just too much. I loved enough for a lifetime. I found lovers of my previous lives and lives to come. I guess that's enough."

"You can't avoid it, though. You know that, right?" He asked, but as she didn't answer he continued. "But there must be one, you know? The one that keeps haunting your dreams, feeding your perversions. The one that first comes to mind when you think of your lovers."

"My fiance." She said, as the most unsuitable sweet smile crossed her face. "All poetry in the world it not enough, you know? We drank on each others souls, we feasted on each others flesh. He was... I pictured myself growing old by his side. I thought I was going to follow him to the grave."

"Fortunately, that didn't happen." He said with a grin. "What happened?"

She sighed. She didn't want revisit that part of her story. It was dead and buried. It was painful, not just because of what happened to her lover, but to her people. On the other hand, she always thought that talking about it would eventually make it less painful - and she was right, at some level. The elf sighed.

"Fine. I'll tell you."


	2. Chapter One: Denial

**CHAPTER ONE: Denial**

The Sunwell enlightened our lives and shed it's glory upon us, back in the years. It is hard for an outsider to understand its importance for us. It was as essential as the air we breathed, as intoxicating and soothing as Golden Sansam's smoke. For us, drinking on its magic was like drinking water for survival. We loved it, with every fiber of our being. We protected it with our lives.

It's on this glorious past, by the Light of the Sunwell, that I met my fiancé. He chose a darker path, filled with demons and curses, but he fed on the Light and loved it almost as much as I did. He was charming and alluring, well versed in coaxing sighs of delight from my lips, and for a moment in my life, I felt I was whole. I thrived in the arcane arts and found a new passion in pyromancy along with my grim Master, my beloved proposed to me and my poor father couldn't even start to guess the mistakes I was hiding from him. The kingdom of Quel'thalas was blooming, and so was I.

And then our world was shattered. The undead ripped our land, raided on us, broke us. They left scars on the land, but the most painful of all were the scars they left in our hearts. The destruction of the Sunwell left a hole in my heart, and I almost died because of it. I should have learned, back then, that the addiction was a sign - it was a lesson to be learned. Some of us were so addicted to the Light of the Sunwell that they fell with it, and I almost did, like them.

I almost lost my fiancé on the siege laid to our capital, but for quite a while I thought my dear father was gone, and so my mourning was deeper. That, on the other hand, is another story.

Luckily, my dearest love was alive - heartbroken and weak, but alive. Our love was strong, and it helped us survive when our souls were weak and withdrawal consumed our minds. I guess I would have gone mad if it wasn't for him. We supported each other, but it wasn't enough for long. We turned to our Prince, seeking help and hope. And curious enough, in the oddest of places, he promised us there was hope - that there was a way back to restoring our glorious kingdom to what it was. And so we were summoned - and joined him to Outlands.

That also proved to be a mistake, but it took a while for me to realize. I had everything I needed at the moment. Fel magic was sweet and numbing, and I was intoxicated. My studies were encouraged, and I had a bunch of brilliant minds by my side - it was stimulating. I had a focus, I was part of something big and important, and we were given a purpose, a horizon. We would save our people. Aside from that... Even my most dark and secret urges were encouraged and fed.

* * *

><p><em>"I'm sure you and your fiancé had a lot of fun." The man interrupted her narrative. "But I guess you're not referring to it, right?"<em>

_He showed her that smile again, almost as malicious as his eyes._

_"I've seen it, the way you look at the flames." He whispered in her ear. "Sometimes seems like you're hypnotized by them. It's the one of your vices you couldn't get rid of, right? It almost... Seems like lust."_

_The elf always thought people didn't notice it, but he saw through her._

_"Sometimes, I... was summoned. To help people talk, you know?" She said, and even though she didn't have the same malicious smile curving her lips, her eyes were shinning. "Mostly resilient ones. Pyromancy is destructive by nature, but there I learned it could be used, not only to destroy objects and bodies, but also minds and spirits."_

_"I know. Better than you, actually." The man said, grinning. "What made you realize it was a mistake, then? Life seemed good for you, I must say."_

_Aiwyn thought for a moment._

_"It's hard to explain." She said after a while._

_"Well... just try." He said, turning to her, interested, and when she looked at him she found the words._

* * *

><p>I felt there was a leash around my neck. We were contributing, doing the Prince's will, so we were rewarded. Like the way you train a dog, you know? It got to a point where our addiction seemed like... a trap, seemed like chains. We were prisoners of our own addiction, and I started to hate it... At least until nightfall and we went back to our chambers to feast on fel magic. But this feeling grew stronger and a seed of doubt was born. And my Master helped it grow stronger.<p>

He never really seemed to like the idea on following Kael'thas' path. We usually communicated through an enchanted mirror placed in my chambers, and I saw that restlessness grow, day by day. But one day, he just spat it all out.

I was coming back to my chambers at nightfall, tired and restless. My studies were exciting, but I had also been helping the botanists with the native plants that day. I hadn't... tapped anything the night before, and it was starting to make me irritated, but even so, my heart rejoiced when I realized my Master was trying to communicate with me. We were keeping these meetings a secret, as he requested, and so I approached a seemingly empty wall and murmured the spell that would reveal the mirror hanging there. It was emitting a soft glow, and as I murmured one more spell, the image of the room reflected on the mirror rippled, and another took its place.

My Master has an almost permanent grim expression, and he was rather old. And rather well preserved for an undead too. He didn't talk much about it, but when death came for him, he simply decided he wasn't ready to leave this world. He simply decided to cheat death. For that, he got undeath. The details are a bit cloudy and he gets unbearable when I insist, so that's all I know.

"What took you so long?" He started right away, in that raspy voice in which I found some comfort. "Brushing your hair? You should cut it. It's easier."

He could sound rude for someone who didn't know him, mocking my daily ritual of hair brushing just like that. But for me, it was comforting to talk to him again, and he was actually more caring than he let others realize.

"I love you too, Master." I answered. "I was helping the botanists - that's why I just got here. How are you feeling today?"

"Old. What else?" He replied. "I wish you would do these sorts of things willingly for me. How are you doing?"

Of course, when you make that question to a woman, chances are you won't get a short reply. But patience was a virtue among several my Master had, and he listened patiently as I told him about my day, with details beyond needed. He seemed interested, and it wasn't that faint and fake interest men show just to show they care. He seemed truly interested to know of everything that was happening at Tempest Keep, and so he listened without interrupting me once. When I was finished, he asked:

"And how's Neph doing?"

And as always happened when I talked about Neph - or thought of him, or saw him, or met him - I felt renewed enthusiasm grow inside me. Neph was doing great. He, also, seemed very happy there, thriving at his own field of expertise. He wasn't a mage, but his success was being equally rewarded. I couldn't see it at that time, but now I see it. Neph was so buried in the addiction and in the dark path he chose that my illusion that he could be saved was childish. But my Master saw it, and he wasn't even there.

I couldn't help but notice that as I kept talking about our achievements of the day, he just kept getting more and more grim. He was a rather stern man, but even so it wasn't normal for him to look so... unsatisfied? No, he was... disappointed.

"Master?" I asked, interrupting my monologue. "What's wrong?"

Then I saw that look on his face. He was hesitating in telling me something. It was a rare thing for him, mostly just too blunt and honest to do such a thing. Usually, he didn't mind saying the most terrible things if he believed it to be true and of use for him. I remember when I saw that look on his face before, and it was when I told him I was going to join Kael'thas at Outlands.

"When was the last time you tapped anything?" He asked.

"I... I guess last night... But why...?" I replied, confused.

"Your hands are shaking."

I noticed it too a while ago. My gestures were starting to get a bit more nervous and my hands were definitely shaking. It was withdrawal, I knew it. What I didn't know was how deep I was into the addiction.

"I... It must be because I had nothing to eat in..." I started to mumble.

"You moron."

I stared at my Master, as if I never saw him before. It was normal for him to call me moron, but that day something inside of me snapped. He made me feel like a scolded child, and I couldn't take it anymore. How did he dare? Me?! I was part of something important, of something that could save our people! I wasn't just a stupid apprentice, eager for his acceptance and love. That moment I felt as something was awakening inside of me - some sort of monster, like a venomous snake that has been distilling its poison. It felt as if a cold snake was rolling around my stomach and its poison was ready to crawl up my throat and hit my Master, shaping words of pure hatred and contempt. But my Master was faster than my hateful thoughts.

"You are weak." He said, and I got so surprised by that, that for a moment I had no idea of how to answer him. I had never felt better. What was he talking about? "Your Flame is burning low."

For a moment I forgot that monster in my stomach, trying to get out to hurt my Master. His words might seem out of contempt, but he was using the same poised and serene tone he always did. He was not just trying to hurt me for nothing. I looked away for a moment, trying to find anything to answer. He often referred to as "Flame" as one's spirit and will power, strength of mind. Mages willing to walk down the path of the flames must have a strong will, so that they won't destroy themselves. And he said my Flame was burning low? In the depths of my mind, in the back of my head, a voice was trying to be heard; it was screaming a warning: "He is right! Listen to your Master!" Deep down I knew it. Deep down I had already started to doubt if my will was mine and that everything I did was done so that, in the end of the day, I would have fel magic to feast on and my lover to join me. Deep down I was starting to feel like a prisoner of my addiction.

"No!" Said that vicious snake that just woke up inside me. "That's not true!  
>You're not a prisoner! You can stop whenever you want... You don't have to give up such power..." Even though a part of me knew that I should have learned the lesson back at the fall of our kingdom, I didn't want to believe it. This would never happen to me. And the voice of that thing was so silky, so full of promises...<p>

This time my Master looked away, as if searching for the words to use. I remained silent, for I knew he was going to speak his mind and tell me the truth. That's what I needed at that moment, when I felt so divided and confused. Truth. But the truth was not what I wanted it to be.

Finally, he spoke.

"A strong leader is like a well of power and strength." He said. I couldn't help but notice how curious of him to use "well" as a metaphor. "Its followers drink from his power, feed on his strength."

"Kael'thas has given us power! Power we could have never dreamed of!" I interrupted him, and I noticed a hysterical hint in my voice. I knew he was about to tell me something I already knew, deep down. The seeds of doubt were already there - he was feeding them, and I was starting to get nervous.

"This is nothing but a lure. He is the light, and you all are the moths." He answered, patiently. "The addiction keeps you under control. It keeps you there, in his hands. This so called power is not truly yours, because your will is not. He can take it anytime he wants. He can use you. He is using you."

It was so shocking for me to hear that, that I had no answer. Not even anger. Denial was upon me, and some part of me still resisted on taking his words as truth, pathetically staring at his image in the mirror. Looking back at it, I realized that I hadn't lost all of my Flame just yet - it survived enough so I could question myself and my actions, and for that I am fortunate and proud. If it wasn't for that, my Master's words would fall on deaf ears. But at that moment I didn't see all of that. I was just there, staring at him, shocked, but he didn't seem quite finished with me.

"Only weak leaders need that sort of devotion. Only weak leaders need lambs."

That was enough to me.

"I'm not a lamb!" I realized I was almost yelling, so I tried to calm down, but my hands were shaking more than ever. I felt that cold snake in my stomach again, feeling the air, waiting for its way out.

But I couldn't help but think. "No, I'm not a docile lamb, just following the shepherd. I'm a prisoner. A prisoner of the addiction. And Kael'thas is feeding this addiction to keep us under control. Under his control. It seems like... a golden cage. It is comfortable, but it is a cage, nonetheless."

Now I know that Kael'thas was as much a victim as we were. I know that he was being manipulated the same way he was manipulating us. Still no one but him could be blamed by all that he had done - the same way no one could be blamed, but us, for following him eagerly, without questioning. I should have noticed it before, I should have seen there was something wrong. I should have questioned such blind devotion... It was comfortable. We left the burden of thinking for someone else and, little by little, slowly, we were forgetting who we were. We were fading into blind devotion. We were fading into the addiction. We were weak.

"Aiwyn..."

My Master was calling me again, and I realized he was watching me closely. I bet he could almost see the engines working inside my head, and seemed satisfied with it. But above it all, he seemed worried.

"You have the most beautiful Flame I have ever seen." He said, surprising me, and again I had no idea how to answer. "Don't let them take it from you."

"Good night, Master." I said, putting an end to the spell that made it possible for us to talk.

My head and my heart were torn and confused. I had no idea of what to do about it. I needed time for my mind to apprehend what my Master told me.

That night, I tapped on fel magic again and made love to Neph as if it was the last time. That cold and venomous monster inside of me seemed to calm down and even disappear. Usually, at a moment like that, my doubts would vanish like mist vanishes with the sunrise. But not that time.

Still, I was confused and torn. At one side, there was Kael'thas, our Prince, our role model. He was truly the most radiant light, a lighthouse. He was hope. But at the other side I had my Master, grim, blunt... and the most honest and wise man I've ever met. The man who tended and cared for me.

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><p><em>"The way you say it..." The man once again interrupted her narrative. "Seems like you'd already made your choice."<em>

_"Not at that time, no." Aiwyn answered. Once her body started to cool down, she felt cold and pulled some sheets over her body. "I was worried about Neph. He was much deeper into the addiction than I was. And... I had hope he wasn't beyond a point of no return."_

_"But what made you realize your Master was right?" The man asked her. "Did something happen?"_

_Yes, something happened. She answered:_

_ "Kirin'Var."_


	3. Chapter Two: Anger

My doubts were consuming me, and so I decided to go where I thought it all started - where that seed of doubt was born.

The Tempest Keep, our base of operations, was located at Netherstorm, a damned and desolated piece of land - or pieces of land, should I say. There is nowhere safe at Outlands now, where the very own land seems to want to devour you - but Netherstorm is unique. It is the picture of unstability and chaos. I heard it was once a fertile green field, but then the Shattering literally tore the place and the pieces of the land still float loosely in the Twisting Nether. The ground has the lilaceous hue of brute arcane magic and the arcane storm raging above it all never ceases. Thorn, destroyed, chaotic. Everything there was unstable, collapsing, devouring itself. The most bizarre creatures made up of brute mana wander aimlessly, while some big chunks of rock float by the edge of the land, still infused with arcane power - and everytime I return to this place, it seems worse. It was as ironic as it was tragic that our search for hope took us to such a hopeless place.

But there was life there too. Kirin'Var was once a small village that served as base to Kirin'Tor mages when the Alliance sent their forces to Draenor. The village suffered deeply when the Shattering occurred, but it survived. Clinging to the cliff, facing the Twisting Nether, it survived. I admire the survivors for such spirit, living in such a chaotic place and seeing the land crumbling around them, while the only thing they could do was to keep on living. They were brave.

But they didn't survive us.

With that silky voice that made me shiver, filled with so seductive hope and promises, Kael'thas told us they were a threat, and we didn't question him. How could we? He was our Prince, our hope, our light. We were such idiots.

And so we fell upon the village with all we've got: a group of Kael'thas' most talented magi against a bunch of Kirin'Tor magi already struggling for survival in such a harsh land. They could barely react to our attack as we marched on them and destroyed a place they got used to call home, burning houses to the ground. They could barely react when their children and elderly succumbed to us, writhing in pain from curses and screaming in agony. They could barely react because it was so fast, and we were too strong.

When the attack occurred, my blood pounding at my ears muffled the voices in my head trying to grab my attention, and for a moment, all I knew was the thrill.

It is when chaos falls upon a battle, and it always does, that I truly feel alive. I feel I belong, I know there's where I'm supposed to be. The scent of despair is intoxicating, the chills of fear, exciting. It all takes me to a higher state of mind, where a sheer mist covers my mind and dulls all that is unnecessary: pain, doubt, empathy. My mind seems even sharper, my thoughts even faster. My blood boils and arcane power rush wildly through my veins, and out of a mere thought, the flames are born. Yes, I love the flames. I weave the flames that, as much slaves as lovers to me, are always hungry to devour the dead and the living. Yes, I love the flames, indeed.

And so, for something to pierce that inebriating mist and grab my attention, it must be something. A faint restlessness grew in the back of my head, and soon enough a voice echoed louder and louder. Soon I understood this voice was asking questions: Why? Why were we doing it? Why were they a threat? Since when did the Kirin'Tor become a threat? Why did we slaughter beaten dogs? Why did we fall upon a shattered village, in the end of a shattered world? Why? Why? Why?

Soon enough that voice in my head was telling me - screaming at me - that I didn't belong there. Not to that fight. When we were ordered to retreat, I almost felt relieve, but that relieve was short lived.

I'm sure our retreat must have brought hope for the survivors of our first assault, but then Kael'thas killed their hope by releasing a mana bomb on the village. It was devastating. When the bomb touched the ground and exploded, a wave of violet arcane power spread all over the village and dragged every building and living being in miles - it reminded me of the break of a dam, where the waters are too powerful for anyone to fight against. All that is left now is the carcass of some more resilient buildings and the ghosts of the villagers.

The elves rejoiced, victory in our hands, watching the doom of our enemies from a safe distance. I felt my mouth dry and my voice abandoned me. There was something wrong in that picture.

"My love?," I heard that soothing voice behind me and turned. It was Neph, and he seemed worried about me. He never left my side during the attack, and I knew that for him the bloodshed had the same effect it had on me. In a different way, since it wasn't the dancing flames he loved - it was the agony and pain in the subjugated enemies. It was different, but I understood him - I truly understood him. He was blinded by it, however, and didn't realize my hesitation. He only noticed something odd when I didn't seem so satisfied and wasn't cheering up with the rest of the group. "Is there something wrong, my love?," he asked.

I nodded, and for just a moment my tongue got stuck. "I'm fine," I told him. "Just a little tired."

His sweet smile shed some light into my heart, but not even that, not even his arms around me, not even his hungry lips and passionate kiss were enough to erase the seeds of doubt born inside me that day.

There was something terribly wrong in that picture.

* * *

><p><em>"Seems like you participated quite actively in some of Kael'thas crimes," said the man listening to Aiwyn's narrative. "You participated on the attack to Kirin'Var, you killed draenei, Kirin'Tor mages..."<em>

_"I even helped to build the mana bomb," Aiwyn completed, her gaze lost on a spot well beyond the balcony and the beautiful night outside. "And I'm still under the impression that something that happened while I was under Kael'thas' service will come back to haunt me."_

_The man just shrugged._

_"Let me get this straight, then," he said. "Sometime after the fall of Kirin'Var you went back to the remains of the village to remember your honorable prowess," he continued, but the sarcasm on his voice was not bothering her. "Did something else happen there?"_

_"I was going to get there. Shut up and listen."_

* * *

><p>There was no feeling of achievement or pride when I walked through the broken village, as much as our Prince insisted we should be proud. But for me, there was only some sort of sorrow, regret. Here and there I saw a ghost that kept doing what he did during his life, unaware of his current state, ignoring me completely. I started to get frustrated as I saw a man trying to fix a fence that was not there anymore; and on the other side of the road there was a little girl still playing with her doll, alone. I'm not sure why, but rage started to boil inside me. Where did all that rage come from? Even that cold snake in my stomach, my addiction, stood back in fear as something else was awakening. It was shapeless, it was strong, and it was fire.<p>

My denial quickly succumbed to this feeling, and before I could feel it suffocating me, I just gave vent to that rage. I quickly started to cast my flames again, as if I could explode if I kept it inside me, and the first victims of my wrath were the ghosts of the man and the girl.

Fire.

Big balls of fire enveloped my hands before they were tossed at them - in the last moment their heads finally turned to me, but then they were already struggling against the flames the same way they did in life, and the more they struggled, the faster the flames enveloped and consumed them. Even as ghosts, as sheer reflections of what they were, they were clinging to this world. And the flames consumed their soul the same way they consumed their flesh, only that that time the flames brought them freedom and peace. Those tormented souls needed to be released from this world so they could rest in peace, but that was not my thought when I started to walk down the village and attacked every single thing I found. How did they dare to stand there, as proof of my mistake? Pointing out I was wrong - how did they dare?!

I walked, aimlessly, setting ghosts on fire. I walked, and that time the flames gave me no pleasure. I walked, and I had no idea where my wrath was taking me.

Of course, even if I directed my rage to them, eventually I realized I was angry with myself. I was so stupid; I should have noticed earlier we weren't walking the path of hope and cure. We weren't going to bring back glory to our people, not like that. There was not glory in that coward attack, there was no...

"Aiwyn?"

I stopped. I have no idea how much I walked, but as I looked back, I saw a trail of recently charred ground, the remains of some buildings burning from fresh flames. I was ready to attack again, whoever it was, but then I stopped just in time. Just ahead, by the entrance of a building, there was an elf. A living one, carrying Kael'thas symbol, just like me. He was tall and had very pale blond hair; crouched, he seemed to be examining something on the ground. When he stood up, straightening his light and elegant robes, I could almost hear the crackling of old bones. He was Voren'thal, one of Kael'thas most trusted advisors.

"Is everything alright, child?," he asked me, hesitating in approaching me for a moment. "You seem disturbed."

My flames and my rage immediately faded. Voren'thal had an air of tranquility about him that made me feel he was a very well balanced person. A trusting person, regardful. And it was enough to make me ashamed of my rage and lower my hands and my eyes.

"The ghosts," I said the first thing that came to my mind. "They were disturbing me."

He nodded, and as he realized I abruptly came to my senses and calmed down, he started to approach.

"I know what you mean," he said, as he stood by my side and looked around. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed a hint of sorrow in his voice and a wrinkle of concern. "I believe that deep down they know they aren't alive anymore. And yet they cling to the realm of the living... It is disturbing to know that such hope is useless. It won't change their fate."

His words echoed in my head, and I couldn't help but think he seemed to be reading my thoughts. But I couldn't tell him of my doubts, even if it was so tempting to seek advice from an older and wiser person. Afterall, he was our Prince's counselor, and I just realized how my doubts could be taken as treason.

Voren'thal looked back to the path I came from, and again shame flushed my face and I looked away. Now I was regretting my loss of control, even if brief and faint.

"You have a very distinctive magic signature, you know that?," he told me. "It is very... passionate."

"I heard that before," I answered. "But it's not enough to conceal the effects of the mana bomb."

He agreed, since he felt it too. Even some time after the bomb exploded, the place was still crackling and the air was still thick from residual arcane magic. It was like a magnetic field, prickling me and ruffling my hair.

"You helped to build it, right?," he asked me, even though he already knew it.

"Yes, but I never knew that it would be used against-," I stopped abruptly, thinking I should chose my words more carefully. I couldn't give him reasons to believe I was unhappy with our situation - no one could question my loyalty, or else I would end up in a very bad situation, not only for myself, but for Neph.

But Voren'thal didn't seem to want to scold me. He seemed to understand me, and perhaps - just perhaps - he even agreed with me.

"I was trying to see if it was possible to capture some of this residual arcane power," he stated. "Such a waste...," he took a look at the Violet Tower, and his gaze saddened even more. "But we should return to Tempest Keep, child. It is getting late."

"You're right, of course," I answered, as I started to prepare to teleport us back. "Allow me."

But that was not the only time I met with Voren'thal. Actually, I can even risk saying he was trying to meet and talk to me alone. He caught me on another rage outburst a few days after that, when I was at the library alone, late at night. Neph was working on some obscure and secret project and I couldn't sleep without him, so I went to the library and tried to study a way of curing our addiction using herbs. At some point I got so frustrated I threw all the books on a table to the ground. I was about to scream my frustration when Voren'thal walked in and stopped when he saw the mess I just made.

"Did I come in a bad moment?," he asked politely.

"I... no... It was just... a spider," I said. I'm a terrible liar. Don't judge me.

"I heard you hate spiders, indeed," he said, amused, as he started to help me organizing the books again. Once again ashamed, I organized the books silently, avoiding eye contact. "You seem to be working too hard, dear. What are you doing here, so late?"

"I was studying, trying to find some way of curing the addiction with herbs," I answered. With the corner of my eyes I noticed a small smile on his lips. When we were finished, Voren'thal surprisingly sat before me and stared at me for a moment.

"I need to talk to you, child."

What would Voren'thal, the Seer, want to talk to me? I started to grow apprehensive and restless for a moment, since I remembered our last encounter on the ruins of Kirin'Var; but that quickly faded. The elf was serious, but his serenity was contagious and soon fear abandoned my heart.

"I'm recruiting some of the most talented elves to join me," he started, his eyes set firmly on mine. "Our Prince has charged me with a very important mission, and I want you among our ranks."

It was an honor, of course, to be recruited by Voren'thal in person, although I feared for him, for he was frail. But I wasn't in the position to question him.

"I would be honored, Voren'thal," I answered. "What is this mission about?"

"We are going to take Shattrath city," he replied.

* * *

><p><em>"Wait a moment," said the man abruptly. "Voren'thal? Shattrath? You don't mean to tell me you were there when...?"<em>

_"Will you just shut up?," Aiwyn replied, rudely. "I'm gonna get there..."_

* * *

><p>The silence that followed was suffocating. My mouth flinched, and I blinked far too many times. It was easy for him to read me, like an open book. It was Kirin'Var all over again - once again, we were going to fall with the best and brightest upon a shattered and weakened city. Kael'thas was firmly set on a path I wasn't sure to be the right one, anymore. What should I do? What should I tell his trusted advisor? What would Voren'thal think of my hesitation?<p>

All my doubts passed before my eyes, but I needed an answer right away. I feared Voren'thal would take me as a traitor, but he was such a reasonable man that I needed to risk it. For some reason, I trusted Voren'thal; and it surprised me to realize I was starting to trust old and wise Voren'thal more than I trusted our Prince. Voren'thal reminded me of my Master, and I trusted my Master with my life.

"Voren'thal, do you think this will get us any closer to our purpose here?," I asked him as I looked away. I realized he was also choosing his words carefully as he answered, so I faced him again.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "Maybe not the way our Prince believes, though."

It is so hard to describe how meaningful that was; how he managed to clearly state, by his voice, by his gaze, his words were more than it could seem. Were we really on the same page? Were we really talking about it? It was frustrating. I knew nothing of that subtle art of communicating through smiles and gestures and stares. I knew nothing about using words to say more than they actually are. I struggled to understand what he was trying to tell me - if he was trying to tell me something - and it was frustrating to notice I was failing.

"I... I'm not sure, Voren'thal. Shattrath...," I started to mumble, without giving my words much thought.

"It won't be another Kirin'Var, Aiwyn," he said firmly, patiently waiting for the information to sink in. "I promise."

My heart was trying to get out of my chest, beating wildly. I felt the weight of fate that moment, and I knew my decision would be some sort of mark in my life, and I was right. Should I have answered anything else, it would be drastically different. So, I answered:

"Alright. I'll join your ranks, Voren'thal."

He seemed pleased.

"Good," he said, as he stood up. "I'll keep you updated."

"Voren'thal," I called him back, as an important issue crossed my mind. "Will Neph be recruited as well?"

The light from his face seemed to fade as he turned to me, and his voice was filled with sadness.

"He is not ready, my child."

My heart sank as I fully understood it. Neph, who was always at my side, would not be there this time. Neph, my love, would be left behind. Neph, my fiancé, my life. Neph...

As the days went by, I fully understood what "ready" meant. I tried to be careful with my words, since they always seemed to bring me trouble, but I started to talk to others that were recruited to Voren'thal's army. There were degrees of knowledge of what was behind Voren'thal's mission, but I felt that everyone recruited was, at some level, unsatisfied with our Prince. We talked in whispers, secrecy and discretion, and that made me tense and stressed. That was not a game for me, of schemes and subtlety, and I feared I would fail any time, so I tried to talk as little as I could. At some point, seeing how nervous I was, Voren'thal told me he had a vision about the future of our people, and assured me he would do his best to put us on the path he deemed to be the right.

Looking back at some of Kael'thas recent deeds, my faint seeds of doubt bloomed. Talking to others that felt the same, it now shaped a feared word:

Treason.

Were we really about to betray our Prince? No, that was not it. Kael'thas was the one who betrayed us; he led us to a path of self-empowerment, and fed us hope so we could keep by his side. Like my Master said, he was attracting moths to the light, and the thought made anger boil in my stomach. We were such idiots.

But that was not the worst part for me. Neph was thriving by walking down that path, the Prince's path, and it hurt me to realize I couldn't trust to tell him anything about Voren'thal's true intention. I felt a hand squeezing my heart as, for the first time, I was concealing information from him. He felt some restlessness in me, but he thought it was about the battle per se; he seemed quite sure we would just crush and take Shattrath and I would be back to his arms before long.

I realized what was wrong with the picture of the devastated village of Kirin'Var. The lingering sorrow, the deep and maddening sadness. It reminded me so much our fallen kingdom, the beautiful city jewel of Silvermoon crumbled and the weeping of the survivors.

Neph wasn't going with me, but if only I could make him see - truly see - how that path we were following was the wrong one, maybe... just maybe... he would follow us on this new and enlightened path Voren'thal promised.

Maybe.


End file.
